


the fire is behind us now, and you're all that's ahead

by Phoenix_of_Athena



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, And Getting a Room at the Ritz too, Blow Jobs, Canon - TV, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Emotional Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hotel Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Tender Sex, and he never properly dealt with that, because Crowley thought that Aziraphale was dead when the bookshop burned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_of_Athena/pseuds/Phoenix_of_Athena
Summary: “I love you, Crowley.”Had there ever been words more terribly, achingly beautiful than these?  Crowley had seen poets and bards, had had front row seats to Sophocles and Shakespeare; he’d been around when the great stories were written and sung, as far back as the beginning, and stretching on for ages; he’d been captivated by words before—had been moved to tears, even though he’d never admit it.  Butthis.Aziraphale: perched lightly, comfortably on the bed in front of him, and those trembling, heartfelt words: “I love you, Crowley.”...After pulling the wool over Heaven and Hell, Crowley and Aziraphale dine at the Ritz and everything isgood.The world hasn't ended, and they're both finally safe, and when Crowley clinks his champagne glass with Aziraphale's, everything finally seems okay. But then the angel mentions being discorporated, and all at once it isn't. Suddenly all he can feel are flames at his heels and the taste of ash is heavy on his tongue, andoh.Aziraphale is worried now. He's ruined it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 233





	the fire is behind us now, and you're all that's ahead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabsmatos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabsmatos/gifts).



> For Gabsmatos, who's an absolute sweetheart and took it upon herself to run the Good Omens Secret Santa Exchange on tumblr without any expectation of getting anything in return. You went above and beyond for us to make sure that everyone got a gift, and it was such a pleasure working with you. Thank you for everything. <3
> 
> Update: Gabsmatos translated this into [Portuguese!](https://www.spiritfanfiction.com/historia/the-fire-is-behind-us-now-and-youre-all-thats-ahead-18473742) So if you'd rather read it there, then it's available! ^_^

“To the world,” Aziraphale said, raising his glass of champagne towards Crowley. And wasn’t that a beautiful thing to hear? 

_To the world._ Because the world was still here. It hadn’t ended, and Heaven and Hell had been fooled, and Crowley was sitting here, in the Ritz, whole and unscathed beside Aziraphale. 

_To the world,_ Aziraphale said, and then he clinked his glass against Crowley’s. Crowley echoed him, and followed the path of the glass to the angel’s lips. He sipped his own champagne and watched him, catching the bright, beatific flicker of a smile in Crowley’s direction. And Crowley thought, “You _are_ my world.” But he didn’t say it.

Instead, he let the angel talk and gesture, and reveled in the moment: the peace, the company. 

Their conversation meandered shapelessly for a time, drifting from the archangel Michael’s expression when she saw “Crowley” completely untouched...to _other_ recent escapades. 

Until now, both the angel and the demon had been on edge: plotting their survival, waiting for the other shoe to drop. They hadn’t really _talked;_ not about everything that had happened, and not about everything that had changed. But now they could finally afford to relax and catch up, and so they did. Crowley explained the concept of travel-via-telephone, and Aziraphale said, “Being discorporated was dreadful.” 

_Discorporated._

The angel wasn’t looking at him as he rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers, and something in Crowley _cracked._

For a moment, he was back in the bookshop again—Aziraphale’s beautiful, comfortable, jumble of a home—and there were flames licking at his feet, and at the walls, and turning it all to ash. One of the constants of the last few centuries—their _safe space—_ crumbling, burning all around him. And _Aziraphale,_ who cherished the bookshop like nothing else—who would never, ever let _anyone_ lay a _finger_ on it—wasn’t there. The angel wasn’t there, and the bookshop was _burning,_ and Crowley was screaming his name and screaming curses, and he was all _alone—_

And Aziraphale put a hand on his shoulder.

“My dear? Are you all right?”

Crowley gulped a breath in through his teeth. He shook his head.

_Aziraphale’s hand was warm and solid on his shoulder, as if he’d never disappeared at all._

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, concern etched into his face, “Crowley, it’s all right, Dear, breathe. Breathe with me, please.” He glanced around. None of the other patrons seemed to have noticed the demon where he sat bowed forward over the table and coming apart at the seams, but this still wasn’t the place to be doing this. Aziraphale ignored that fact, and slid from his chair to kneel in front of Crowley. 

His other hand came up to cradle Crowley’s cheek. It was soft and careful, and he leaned their foreheads together.

“Come now, Crowley, it’s okay. Breathe with me. That’s it. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? You’re frightening me, Dear.”

Crowley choked on a wretched sounding laugh.

“Me?” he gasped, _“I’m_ frightening _you?_ You—Angel—when the _bookshop—_ and you were _gone—_ I thought—and everything was _burning—_ and you _love_ the bookshop, you’d _never_ let it burn if you were there to stop it—!”

He gasped again, a frightfully wet sounding thing. How humiliating. Aziraphale must be horrified; he was a _mess._

“You were _gone,”_ he repeated weakly, “and I _didn’t_ _know_ that you’d been discorporated. Hell’d just sent some people to _kill me,_ and Heaven might usually be absent, but everything was _burning,_ and _you’d never let it burn.”_

He darted his eyes up to the angel’s through his glasses, and saw the way Aziraphale’s lips were trembling; the glossy shine to his eyes.

“I thought...” he said, and then he couldn’t say it. Even with the angel right here in front of him, he couldn’t force the actual words past his lips. But it seemed he didn’t _need to,_ because Aziraphale had wrapped soft arms around his shoulders, and crushed the demon to his chest.

The hug was tight and brief, and when Aziraphale pulled back he was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

The angel stood, and offered Crowley a hand.

“Let’s...let’s go,” he said quietly. “We can do dinner some other time. I don’t...I don’t want to do this here; I’d prefer some privacy.”

“Right,” Crowley whispered, taking his hand, “Of course.” And he let Aziraphale pull him to his feet. The angel didn’t drop his hand; instead he led them out of the dining hall, and then he hesitated, glanced quickly at Crowley, and then away again. He led the way to the service desk of the hotel, and asked them for a room.

“I thought…?” said Crowley, and Aziraphale winced.

“No,” he said, “I don’t want…. The bookshop can wait. We should talk, first. And then, perhaps—but not yet. And you’re in no fit state to drive.”

At this, Crowley forced his face into an expression of offence.

“I’ll have you know,” he protested weakly, “that I drove to the end of the world while the Bentley was _on fire,_ and I...I...oh, bless it. All right.” And he slumped into Aziraphale’s side just to feel him there. Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s fingers.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s what I thought.” He took the key card from the young man at the desk, and tugged the demon along, and up the stairs. 

Their room was on the second floor, and Aziraphale paused for a moment at the door, blinking down at the card and then the slot at the handle, before Crowley took it from him and slid it in. The light blinked green, and the door unlocked.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, “thank you.”

“‘S nothing,” Crowley muttered, still listing into his side, and Aziraphale flashed him a smile, and led the way into the unlit room.

Inside it was dark and still, the only light coming through a crack in the heavy curtains. Neither of them bothered with a light as Aziraphale pulled them both towards the bed. He sat down lightly on the end of it, and Crowley perched next to him. It was quiet.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, and gave his hand a squeeze.

Crowley shuddered lightly.

“Aziraphale,” he said. “You don’t have to. That is. I’m a grown demon, I don’t need you to baby me.”

Aziraphale looked pointedly at their still joined hands and the way their shoulders were pressed together. Then he leaned his body weight against the demon.

“Well,” he said, “You might not _need_ it, but I—I _want_ to. To be here for you. And I _am_ here, Crowley. I’m here. I’m fine. All is well.”

Crowley let out a faintly shuddering breath.

“I know,” he said. “But at the _time._ At the time...for the first time...it felt like it really might be the end of the world.” He paused. “I guess when you mentioned being discorporated, it all just...came back.”

“Oh, my _dear,”_ Aziraphale murmured. “I’m sorry. I feel so—so _useless._ You’re upset because of _me,_ and I...I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. I should never have brought it up. I didn’t know.”

Crowley pulled away to look at the angel fully, and with a frustrated sort of scoff, he yanked off his glasses.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Angel,” he said. “‘S not _your_ fault. You were just talking about what happened to you. And I _want to know._ I do. I just. I mean. This probably would have come up the second we went into the bookshop together, anyways. You couldn’t have known. You...you weren’t there. You didn’t see how it all looked, burning to the ground.”

Aziraphale’s face went soft and earnest.

“But I _was_ only discorporated, Dear. Heaven didn’t even send anyone after me. It was just, it was my own fault. I was so terribly foolish, still thinking that I could just bring Heaven around. I—I tried to contact them. Set up a circle, lit the candles and all that. And they—they brushed me off, of course. Told me to come up and join the ranks for battle.” Aziraphale glanced away.

“I was going to run,” he admitted. “I was going to run, and try to find you. I _never_ would have gone back to them. But then Witchfinder Shadwell turned up, and he thought—he thought _I_ was a demon, and he was getting so close to the circle, and I was only trying to stop him before he got himself killed—and then. Well. I made a mistake. I stepped in without protecting my corporation, and I...I suppose it must have been vaporized. It was a bit of a shock.”

_“Vaporized?”_ said Crowley, and he was clutching at Aziraphale’s hand again. “That’s...that’s gotta be worse than being bludgeoned to death by a horse-kick to the skull, or, or the time we both got alcohol poisoning.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“It...wasn’t _pleasant,_ no. But it was quick. There’s that, at least. And it’s long over now, and I’m all right.” Aziraphale locked his pale, almost electric blue eyes with his. “We’re here together, and we’re both _safe,_ Crowley. There’s no use dwelling.”

Crowley sagged.

“Safe, yeah,” he muttered, and he then pulled away, disengaging himself from the angel’s grip to stand and pace the room.

“Safe, we’re bloody safe. Free from Heaven and Hell! What am I supposed to do with that?”

He whirled.

“What now, Aziraphale? What are we supposed to do?”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I thought that we’d go on as we had been. _Together._ There’s no reason not to. Not to…” His brow furrowed.

“Not to?” said Crowley, stopping in front of him.

Aziraphale’s face went lax, and a sort of wonderment came over it.

“There’s no reason not to…” he said again, and looked up into Crowley’s face with such unspeakable gentleness that Crowley felt wrong footed. “There’s no reason not to say I love you, Crowley.”

_“What?”_ Crowley choked out. He couldn’t have…. He _wouldn’t_ have. Surely. Surely Crowley was hearing things, because Aziraphale _wouldn’t…._

“I love you,” said Aziraphale again, looking up at Crowley from the edge of the bed, and something in the demon seemed to want to bubble out of his skin.

_“I love you, Crowley.”_ Had there ever been words more terribly, achingly beautiful than these? Crowley had seen poets and bards, had had front row seats to Sophocles and Shakespeare; he’d been around when the great stories were written and sung, as far back as the beginning, and stretching on for ages; he’d been captivated by words before—had been moved to tears, even though he’d never admit it. But _this._ Aziraphale: perched lightly, comfortably on the bed in front of him, and those trembling, heartfelt words: “I love you, Crowley.” 

Something in Crowley’s heart cracked right in two, and he sunk to his knees before the angel and reached out with shaking hands towards him. Tears spilled hot and aching down his cheeks, and Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open as he took the demon’s hands in his with the gentlest of touches.

“Crowley? Did I say something wrong?” 

And something about his voice was so small, so tentative, that Crowley couldn’t stand it.

_“No,”_ he whispered, choked. “No, angel, _no._ Never. I… I _love_ you.” And he raised the angel’s hands, clasped with his, to his lips and kissed them, and buried his face into Aziraphale’s knuckles.

_“Oh,”_ said Aziraphale, and bent down to press a kiss into Crowley’s hair. “Then why are you crying?”

And Crowley could only laugh wetly and shake his head. For how could he explain it? And to an _angel_ , of all people; a being who lived and breathed love as if it wasn’t something rare; something precious and fragile and _dangerous?_

“Crowley? _Please.”_

But he had to try, of course. Because this was Aziraphale, and he was asking. And if anyone deserved the truth from Crowley, then it was him. He deserved everything that Crowley could possibly give, and so much more.

“It’s just,” said Crowley slowly, and then stopped. Aziraphale extracted one of his hands to brush the tear tracks from the demon’s cheeks. Crowley closed his eyes at the warm, unwavering touch, and forced his thoughts back.

“D’ you remember,” he said, “when we went to the old hospital? You said, you said there was this feeling of love, and I wouldn’t understand—”

“Oh, _Crowley—”_

“No, Aziraphale. No. You weren’t _wrong,_ exactly. Love...is something to be avoided, as a demon. And if I had spent less time on Earth, less time with _you_ , then you’d have been right. I wouldn’t have understood it.” He paused to take a shaky breath. “Love isn’t...the same for us as it is for angels. It’s a sharp thing; a tool; something used to corrupt. In my hands...in yours _with_ me… it’s dangerous. At least, it _was_. For so long, it has been. Heaven and Hell, watching us, checking in, the blasted secrets and having to dance around each other…”

Crowley swallowed thickly, and pressed another kiss to the angel’s knuckles.

“I just never thought I’d get to hear you say it, is all,” he admitted. “Even if we both felt it, and if we _knew_ we felt it. I thought I’d never hear you say you loved me.” And his voice cracked, and Aziraphale’s face crumpled. 

The angel slid from his place on the bed and wrapped his arms around Crowley, drawing the demon’s head down to his chest. His knees bracketed Crowley’s thighs as he knelt halfway in his lap, and Crowley could feel the breath hitching in the angel’s breast beneath his cheek.

“But we _can_ say it now,” Aziraphale said, stroking his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “We can say it as many times as we like. We’re _free._ I love you.”

Crowley’s arms snaked around the angel’s middle like iron bands, and he nuzzled his face into his soft tartan collar.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he whispered, and then he raised his head and leaned up to kiss Aziraphale full on the mouth. 

It was hot, and wet, and their teeth clacked together hard enough to make them both wince, but he was _kissing Aziraphale,_ and _Aziraphale was kissing him back._

Aziraphale’s lips slid slowly against Crowley’s, and the angel pressed in further with the faintest moan. The sound shot through Crowley like an electric shock, tingling all the way down his corporation.

“Aziraphale,” he gasped breathily into the angel’s mouth, and was rewarded with another quiet, delectable sound. He dragged a hand through Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale slid his hands up Crowley's jaw to hold him as he worked their mouths together. Crowley took advantage of the angle and the angel’s parted lips to slide his tongue in. He felt Aziraphale shudder, and then the angel was pressing forward with his whole body so they were chest to chest and Aziraphale was fully straddling his waist.

Crowley could feel the entirety of Aziraphale’s corporation flush against his, soft and warm, and he dragged his lips away from the angel’s to mouth along his jaw. Aziraphale gasped and squirmed in the demon’s arms, clutching desperately at his shoulders, and tipped back his head as Crowley kissed down further on his throat.

“Crowley, _Crowley.”_

Aziraphale’s voice was breathless, and as he whimpered, he rocked his hips against the demon’s. 

Crowley felt the length of him then, the hard press of his erection against his stomach, and he groaned against the silky skin of Aziraphale’s throat.

“Angel,” he said, “D’ you...want to? _Fuck_. How far do you want to take this?”

He pulled back to look Aziraphale in the face, and watched the angel’s pale eyelashes flutter over burning blue eyes.

“As far as you’re willing to go,” said Aziraphale. “We’ve waited long enough, now, don’t you think?” 

And Crowley moved again before he’d even thought, and met the angel’s lips again. He pressed frenzied kisses there, and in between them gasped, “yes, _yes._ We’ve waited for so _long.”_

And Aziraphale’s hands were in his hair again, brushing his bangs back from where they’d fallen in his face, and he was beaming against Crowley’s lips.

“All the way, then?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Yes,” said Crowley, and peppered kisses over the angel’s cheeks as well.

“Perhaps we’d better get back on the bed, then,” Aziraphale said with laughter in his voice, and then he was pulling back and drawing Crowley with him.

Aziraphale fell back onto the bed with a thump, and stared up at him: all wide blue eyes, and scattered curls, and flushed pink cheeks. And then he smiled again: that gentle, aching little quirk of lips that Crowley had been catching on his face for _centuries,_ and the demon nearly felt like crying all over again.

“Have I ever told you that I love your smiles?” Crowley asked, crawling over the Aziraphale so that the angel was bracketed by his hands and knees.

“Because I do; I love your smiles. I love the way you _look_ at me. I love….” 

His voice dipped down into a whisper, and he leaned in close to Aziraphale. 

“I love the way that you laugh when you feel like you shouldn’t.” 

He pressed a kiss to the angel’s round cheek. 

“I love the way you hold yourself,” he said, “all prim and proper, and I love the way you loosen up when we get pissed together. I love those blasted curls of yours, and how wonderfully comfortable you keep your corporation.” 

Aziraphale’s breathes were soft and shaking, and Crowley kissed the bow of his lip as well, velvet soft, and then the tip of his nose.

“I love the way you frown when I’ve upset you,” he continued, “but how you’ll still do things like catch a door for me, or help me with my coat, or share your bookshop with me anyways. I love all of it; everything. I love _you_ Aziraphale,” he said, and he cradled the words on his tongue, as tenderly as one would the most precious, fragile bud in spring. 

Beneath him, tears had welled over from Aziraphale’s eyes to travel in silent tracks into his hair.

“Crowley,” he said, and his voice was aching, trembling like a leaf. He lifted his hands to Crowley’s face again, and held him fiercely, his eyes boring into his. 

“I love you just as much,” he whispered fervently, his voice gone low and rough. “I love...the way _you_ look at _me,_ as if you’d just keep looking forever, until the world cuts in. I love the way you smile after you’ve pulled off some particularly clever trick, and that you _always_ come and tell me before any time has passed at all.” 

Aziraphale smiled then, a star-bright thing that softened into a gentle curve of lips. 

“I love,” he said, “how before we were even _friends,_ you still always had a gentle hand for me, and a grin tucked away when we crossed paths. I love the way you walk, that _dreadful_ swagger; and I love the way you’ll trail ahead, and then come back to me. I love your eyes, the way you do your hair _—all the ways you’ve ever done your hair—_ and I love the way you hold me, kiss me, touch me. How very kind you are, when there’s no need for a show. Crowley, _I love you,_ and I’ll say it as many times as you can stand it.”

“So you’ll never stop, then?” Crowley asked against Aziraphale’s lips as the angel’s fingers curled up into his hair.

“Mm,” said Aziraphale, leaning up to kiss him, “Never. Love you.”

Crowley huffed a chuckle and then leaned back, sitting up. Aziraphale made a quiet sound of loss, and reached up after him.

At the sound, Crowley laughed again, and raised a hand to fidget with his shirt collar.

“I’m just gonna take my shirt off, Angel. Unless you _don’t_ want to go any further than this.” 

Instantly, Aziraphale was shoving himself up as well, and his fingers were flying over the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed the angel, tossing the vest haphazardly to the floor and starting on the buttons of his shirt, “the only reason I’d back out now is if you wanted me to.”

Crowley gaped at him.

With every button that came undone, more of the angel’s plush skin was revealed, and he was riveted to the sight of it: each inch of Aziraphale’s chest that he could see, until the shirt was hanging open and he looked up to catch Aziraphale watching him. 

There was a pleased smirk on the angel’s lips, and with deliberate slowness, and his eyes still locked to Crowley’s, he slowly slid the garment off, baring his shoulders first, and then his upper arms, and with them great swaths of his plump chest. Finally, dressed only in his trousers and his shoes, Aziraphale cleared his throat, dragging Crowley’s gaze from the sparse, pale curls on the angel’s chest and to his face.

“Not that I’m not glad you like what you see,” Aziraphale said smugly, “but I’ve already taken off two layers, and you haven’t even finished one. It feels a bit unfair to me.” He smirked again, his gaze painting a burning line over Crowley’s skin as he looked the demon up and down, and Crowley choked. Then, with one swift motion, he yanked his shirt off and tossed it to the floor atop Aziraphale’s. 

Before he could go any further, Aziraphale’s hands were on his shoulders. 

The angel’s palms were warm against his skin as he slid his hands down Crowley’s chest.

“Wha—Angel?”

Aziraphale raised his eyes from the paths of his fingers where they were ghosting along the demon’s ribs. He licked his lips.

“Sorry, my dear,” he said slowly and _completely_ unrepentantly, “I’m afraid I just couldn’t resist. Now that I’m here, finally able to _touch you…”_

Crowley swallowed, throat bobbing shallowly as he felt his face begin to flush.

“Right, yeah,” he said, “I guess we’re both getting distracted.”

Aziraphale gave a delicate little snort and leaned forward to kiss him again, those soft hands of his still tracing trails of sparks across his chest.

Crowley met him eagerly and took the opportunity to reciprocate, his own hands finding first the angel’s hips, then sliding up the soft curves there to explore the physicality of his corporation.

Crowley’s fingers slid into the fine hair on the angel’s chest, and Aziraphale gave a breathy sort of hum, and slid his tongue along the demon’s bottom lip. Then his own trailing fingers moved decisively, finding Crowley’s left nipple and rubbing. Crowley shuddered, and opened his mouth against the angel’s in mess of heat and lips and tongues. His hand slid lower, down Aziraphale’s plump stomach to the button of his trousers, where he could feel the heat of his erection through the cloth. Aziraphale gasped and squirmed.

_“Yes,”_ he said against Crowley’s lips, “please, _Crowley,”_ and one-handed, Crowley wrestled with the button. Then he dragged his other hand from the soft curls on the angel’s chest, and wrestled with it two-handed.

Eventually, with a quiet moan that was half frustration and half arousal, he broke their kiss to pull away. Aziraphale looked bemusedly at him. He was a sight: kiss-swollen lips and rumpled curls and utterly devoid of his usual fussy manners. It was all that Crowley could do not to lean back in and kiss him again.

“Just,” Crowley panted, a flush creeping all the way down his chest as he darted a look down at Aziraphale’s straining trousers, “the fabric’s too tight. Can’t get it off.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“That’s easily fixed,” he said, and then leaned back to lounge across the bedcovers. “Ought to be easier, without me sitting up.”

“Uh. Yeah,” said Crowley.

In that moment, the angel looked like nothing so much as a work of art: the pose, the rolls of milk-white skin and pale blond hair in ringlets; he was like a renaissance painting come to life upon the bed.

Crowley reached with trembling hands and popped the button of the angel’s trousers, then slowly slid them down. Tossing them to the floor with the rest of the garments, he looked Aziraphale over again, sitting on his heels at the angel’s feet. Then, reverently, he trailed soft fingers up the angel’s plump thighs until he was knelt between Aziraphale’s knees and looking down.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, in a voice gone soft and tender once again, “my dear, the way you look at me….”

Crowley raised his eyes to Aziraphale’s, blue and shining in the dusky light.

“I love you,” Crowley said once more, and pressed a gentle kiss onto the angel’s chest amongst the soft curls there.

“I love you,” he murmured, trailing the kisses down over the soft rolls of Aziraphale’s stomach.

“I love you,” he said, and felt his own breath hot against his face before the tent of the angel’s undergarments.

Aziraphale made a strangled sort of sound.

“I love you too,” he said, and forcefully, “but if you don’t stop teasing and take your trousers off as well….”

“Then _what?”_ Crowley asked with a smirk. Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“Then I’ll reserve the right to return the favor,” he said slowly, “and I _promise_ that I won’t beat around the bush as much as you.”

The sound that Crowley made then was reminiscent of a kettle boiling over. Without reserve, he shucked his trousers off and flung them away. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he shimmied out of his pants as well.

Glancing back up at Aziraphale, he was gratified to see the angel’s gaze was riveted to his corporation’s _effort,_ and quirked his lips up into a grin.

“Well, now,” he said, “seems like _you’re_ the only one who’s over dressed _now,_ Angel.”

Aziraphale tore his gaze away, and up to Crowley’s.

“Then why don’t you fix that for me?” he asked, and Crowley felt his breath catch once again.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “With pleasure.” And he hooked his fingers under the waistband of the Aziraphale’s pants and tugged them down to his ankles. Aziraphale kicked them to the floor, and Crowley was left with the sight of him spread out on the bed, completely bare. Seeing Aziraphale like this, relaxed and unrestrained...it made something in Crowley’s heart flop. He leaned down and pressed another kiss onto the angel’s soft stomach.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale laughed, and the demon raised his head to meet his eyes.

“Love you,” he found himself saying again as his hands mapped out the curves of Aziraphale’s thighs, and the angel propped himself up to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“I love you, too,” he said, and Crowley trembled. 

Aziraphale’s hand was warm and gentle, teasing carefully through his hair, and he couldn’t help but press another kiss to the nearest part of the angel that he could reach. He felt Aziraphale jump as his lips met the crease of his thigh.

“My _dear,”_ he whispered, and Crowley’s wandering fingers paused in the warm places behind the angel’s knees.

“Angel?” he asked, and he looked up to see Aziraphale’s face flushed pink, blue eyes blown dark and wide. 

“Oh,” he said, and then he smiled wickedly, and shifted slightly between the angel’s legs and gazed down at him.

Aziraphale’s cock was thick and pink, as plump as the rest of the angel’s delicious corporation, and Crowley swallowed hard. His eyes darted, for a moment, between it and Aziraphale’s face; the angel’s lips slightly parted and his gaze locked on Crowley.

“Can I…?” Crowley asked. His voice was strained.

“Can— _yes!”_ Aziraphale all but gasped, and that was all the prompting that the demon needed, his hands smoothing up the backs of Aziraphale’s thighs as he leaned down and took him into his mouth. 

_“Crowley,”_ Aziraphale moaned, his words and hips hitching as Crowley’s lips slid down the length of his erection to the base. Crowley licked the underside of his cock and felt Aziraphale jolt before he dragged his mouth back up. Then, listening to the angel’s soft, breathy whines, he slid back down again and began to suck and bob.

Aziraphale gasped, and grunted, and fisted his hands in the bedcovers. Crowley made a very deliberate motion with his tongue, and Aziraphale’s knuckles went white.

“Crowley, _Crowley,”_ the demon’s name became a mantra on the angel’s lips as he bucked and squirmed. 

The sound of it, and the feeling of the angel shuddering and coming undone under the demon’s ministrations was enough to undo Crowley. Aziraphale was so willingly open to him, as vulnerable as it was possible to be: all protective facades had been shed, and they were _really doing this._ Crowley had his serpentine tongue wrapped around the angel’s cock in a way that was bringing _tears_ to Aziraphale’s eyes, and there was nothing between them anymore. Nothing keeping them apart. And there never would be again.

Blinking away the tears that gathered on his lashes, Crowley’s fingers kneaded into the backs of Aziraphale’s plush thighs, and he pushed himself to move all the quicker. 

And then he took Aziraphale down to the base again, burying his nose in the tuft of hair at the angel’s groin, and Aziraphale was practically sobbing, shouting his name; Crowley had to hold him steady as he gave a thrust and shook as he came. 

Crowley swallowed what he could and drew his head away, raising one hand to wipe his mouth. 

Aziraphale made a low, whispery sort of sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and looked up at him with soft-lidded eyes. His body was completely lax, his cheeks a ruddy pink and his hands curled loosely above the wrinkles he’d clenched into the sheets. His face was streaked with tear tracks.

“Crowley?” he said muzzily, and Crowley swiped his own tears from his cheeks.

“Yeah, Angel?” he asked, working his jaw slightly at the soreness. 

“Come here and kiss me again?”

The demon obliged, slithering up the bed to cup Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks in his hands, and bent down to kiss him.

Aziraphale’s mouth was as warm and pliable, and he met Crowley with a lazy sort of relish, licking into his mouth and allowing Crowley to lead the way.

Crowley hummed, tilting his head to kiss him more deeply, and the angel shifted under him, his knee brushing against Crowley’s own very firm erection and sending sparks of fire lancing through his corporation.

Crowley felt Aziraphale inhale a breath against his lips, and then the angel was looking up at him with those soft blue eyes, so strikingly vivid, the creases at the corners so loose that Crowley thought that he could do nothing but kiss Aziraphale and look into those eyes for the rest of his life, and he’d be happy.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said against his lips, and stroked a hand up Crowley’s spine, “as wonderful as that was, it seems to have left _you_ rather unsatiated.”

He smirked, a wry little twist of lips, and his other hand tangled loosely in Crowley’s hair.

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” the angel continued. “You _did_ say you were willing to go all the way. I hope that you’re still willing?”

Looking at that beautiful, self-satisfied smile, Crowley couldn’t help his giddy answering grin.

“You think that I’d say _no?”_

“Well, no,” Aziraphale said, “but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I’d never want to do something without your say-so, Crowley. I hope you know that. I want to give you everything; all the love I possibly can, and nothing else.”

“Oh,” Crowley whispered, and brushed his nose against Aziraphale’s. “Aziraphale, I….” and he was blinking back tears again, bless it. He had spent far too much of the evening wrestling with tears.

“I wouldn’t want you to be only sunshine and daisies,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “Don’t know what I’d do if you gave up that bit of Bastard in you.”

And Aziraphale chuckled again, soft and contented, and the hand on Crowley’s back slid down to squeeze his arse.

“Oh, I don’t mean _all the time,”_ the angel said. “Only when you need it. Or when you want it.”

_“Right,”_ Crowley squeaked, and Aziraphale leaned up to press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. Beneath him, the angel spread his legs.

“Crowley,” he said softly, “I’m yours, any way you want me. I’m afraid that I’m a bit spent at the moment, thanks to you, but if you’d rather, I’m sure that I can get myself up again. How would you like to…?”

“I don’t care,” said Crowley, “I don’t have a preference, usually. So I’m fine if you’d rather I f—rather I fuck you? _”_

The words crossed Crowley’s lips in a jumble, almost in disbelief even as he spoke. 

Aziraphale snorted, his eyes crinkling in a grin at Crowley’s verbal stumbling, and he gave his arse another squeeze.

“I _would_ rather,” he said. “This time. But usually I feel the same as you. The pleasures of this corporation...I enjoy them in any fashion.”

“Good to know,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale gave him a wink. “Yeah, _very_ good to know. Er. Shall I?”

“Please do.”

Giving Aziraphale a quick peck on the lips just to hear the happy little hum he made, Crowley slipped one hand between the angel’s legs. Aziraphale bent his knees up on either side of him, and Crowley pressed one finger testingly against his hole. 

The angel tugged his hair then, stopping him, and raised his hand from Crowley’s backside to give a whimsical little wave.

“Forgot something,” he said, and Crowley rubbed his fingers together and felt them come away wet.

“Fuck, Angel, M’ sorry.”

“Shh, you only got a little overeager, Dear,” Aziraphale said. “It was easily solved, no need to worry.” 

“Right.”

And Crowley dipped down to kiss him on the lips as he slowly slid his finger in.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut, then, and he have a low sort of hum as Crowley crooked his finger.

_“That’s_ it, Dear,” he murmured. “Just like that. Keep going, please. I promise I can handle it.”

Crowley slid a second finger in, and watched the heave of Aziraphale’s chest as the angel sucked a breath, the flicker of his eyes beneath soft, pale lids, and the splay of his golden curls against the patterned quilt. 

He bent his fingers again, and felt the angel clench around him. 

“Good, Angel?” he whispered, and Aziraphale gave the faintest moan.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, “yes, keep _going,_ Dear.”

And Crowley’s movements became less tentative, and he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s shoulder. Feeling the hitch of breath beneath his lips, he mouthed hot kisses down the line of the angel’s collar and felt him squirm. Beneath his stomach, Aziraphale’s cock had gone from soft and limp to halfway hard again. 

“Crowley,” the angel whimpered, the hand in his hair tightening further, “that’s good _enough,_ get _in me.”_

“Thought I already was,” Crowley snarked from where he’d sucked a mark at the base of Aziraphale’s throat, and earned himself a swat from the angel that stung against his arse.

_“Teasing,”_ said Aziraphale, and Crowley laughed, slipping his fingers from Aziraphale and lining up to slide his dick in. 

He kissed the angel’s throat again, mouthing a line to his adam’s apple. Then he cupped Aziraphale’s hip and pushed slowly into the angel, a whimper tearing itself from his throat.

For a moment, he lost himself in the feeling of it: Aziraphale tight around him all electricity and fire, delectable and consuming, and the aching need to press in deeper, _deeper_.

Instead, he steadied himself and moved slowly, sliding his way in gradually until he was sheathed to the hilt. Aziraphale made the most pathetic, wonderful sound, and Crowley could feel every minute twitch of the angel’s body under his hands, and lips, and all around him. He wanted to see Aziraphale’s face too; desperately; more than anything else. More than the heat and friction his body screamed for, he needed to see the angel’s face. 

Lifting his head, he roved his gaze over Aziraphale’s expression: the deepening red of his round cheeks, he lip he’d pulled between his teeth, and the way the muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed. His eyes had clenched tight once more, and his breath came quick and hot against the demon’s chin. _“Please, move.”_

“Look at me, Angel,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open. Crowley didn’t know what Aziraphale saw in his face, then, but it must have been _something,_ for the angel’s eyes positively burned.

“I’m looking,” he said, his gaze unwavering from Crowley’s face. “My dear, I see you. I’m with you. It’s good; I love you.”

_“Good,”_ Crowley breathed, and gave in to the instinct of his hips, rolling into motion.

Aziraphale pressed up into him, meeting each thrust with a push of his hips, and Crowley saw on his face the exact moment that hit the right spot. 

Crowley’s name fell from the angel’s lips in a ragged gasp, and Aziraphale’s expression went slack as he tossed his head against the quilt, pale curls catching softly in the chink of light that fell in a misty stripe across the bed.

“That’s it, Crowley, Crowley, _Crowley,”_ Aziraphale keened as their bodies moved in rhythm. “Dear, Dear, oh, my darling, _yes.”_

And though his lashes fluttered, he kept his eyes locked to Crowley’s, each drinking in the sight of the other and edging each other further and further on.

Crowley’s hand clutched divots into the angel’s waist, and the other came to stroke along his cheek as he pressed their foreheads together.

Every motion sent another wave of pleasure rolling through him, and every gasp and plea was a delight. Aziraphale’s hands were scratching delirious tracks across his back with every thrust that made him mewl, and his breath was a wash of heat that mingled with Crowley’s across their cheeks. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped again, and Crowley answered, “Yes, Aziraphale, yes, yes, _Angel,”_ and something was building, the heat and friction and the slick slide of their bodies reaching a peak so tall that the edge of the precipice was _frightful—_ and then Crowley shuddered and shook and cried out as he fell. 

Aziraphale was warm, his arms were firm and solid for all the softness that cushioned them, and he held Crowley tight and whispered loving things across his lips with every hitch of breath. Crowley blinked, and his eyelashes caught against the angel’s, so close their faces were pressed together. He met blue eyes, calm and deep and pale in the gray light.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, “are you back with me, Dear?”

“I think so,” Crowley murmured, his voice wrung out. He kept getting distracted by the angel’s eyes: the feathery patterns of light and dark that painted his irises, the fall of light and shadow that seemed so deep.

“Are you, now?” the angel asked, voice soft and wry, and Crowley blinked again.

“Yeah. _Yeah._ I’m with you. I’m…” and something in his voice caught, for Aziraphale’s hands trailed idle caresses across his back, and their chests were pressed flush, hot and sticky with sweat, and he felt Aziraphale’s heartbeat next to his. “I’m…” he said, everything in him soft and aching and so so glad to be here that he couldn’t possibly voice it. “I’m _with you.”_

And Aziraphale held him; caught him; lay with him and cradled him. He was here, so warm and safe and soft. And free. And _Crowley’s._ And Crowley was Aziraphale’s, and he didn’t see that ever changing; it hadn't for several thousand years, after all, or for the end of the world, or anything at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> now with [fanart!](https://greenfiredragonfly.tumblr.com/post/614149556079378432/mabsgatos-just-like-to-thank-my-talented-friend)


End file.
